Ghost Next Door

The ghost that lives next door to me is kind
He will not say how he died
But the whispers around town say
He shot himself
He hung himself
But I heard that he died peacefully.
In his bedroom, in his sleep.
I went into his house, I went into his room.
I don’t know why.
His body gone, his bed unmade.
I prayed there, I wept there.
As i made to leave, I looked at the tree outside his window.
In the screens fraying edge was a scrap of fabric.
I looked back at the bed and noticed the folded paper on the pillow.
I didn’t read it, but the last sentence.
I knew then how he died.
“I’m sorry. Love always”
I knew.
He laid down and cried.
I knew that he cried until he slept, and died from a broken heart.
His ghost is gone.
His work is done in this life.
He needed someone to know.
And know I do.